


morning, noon, night

by b_minor



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, and by that I mean blow jobs, drive by mentions of pining and past unrequited hanaiwa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 06:35:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4511619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_minor/pseuds/b_minor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of two losers in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	morning, noon, night

**Author's Note:**

> *looks up at M rating and starts sweating nervously* 
> 
> (See if you can catch references to several matsuhana week prompts!)

**morning -- 10:00 A.M.**

 

The first thing Issei notices when he wakes up is that his legs are freezing and his right arm is numb. He blinks up at the ceiling, observing the patterns of light smeared against the ceiling in broad strokes. The open blinds click against each other in the breeze--they must have forgotten to close the window last night. No wonder it was so cold.

One mystery solved, he tugs experimentally to see if he can pull his arm out from under whatever weighed it down. It comes free, but he grimaces when the movement invites a rush of pins and needles to his forearm that lasts for several seconds; he lies there until the worst of the feeling subsides. Shaking it off, he turns to see what the obstruction could be, and snorts.

Hanamaki is a lump wrapped in one of their (shared. It was supposed to be shared) blankets, snoring softly. Only the crown of his head is visible.

“Hey, blanket hog, it’s morning.”

He doesn’t get a response, so Issei levers himself up on one elbow, gradually pulling down the part of the comforter covering Hanamaki’s head. He leans over to press a kiss in the space behind Hanamaki’s ear. There is a flutter of movement beneath Hanamaki’s eyelids, but his lover does not stir.

“Ha. Na. Ma. Ki.” he tries. His eyes haven’t opened, but he’s no longer snoring. Definitely faking it. Issei knows for a fact from years of experience that the man is never truly asleep until he hears telltale whistling noises from his general direction (the things he deals with for love).

Issei lets out a long breath.

“Takahiro.”

Hanamaki stiffens slightly, then wriggles in his self-made blanket roll, turning over to fix Issei with a petulant glare. It’s not intimidating in the least. “So you are awake.”

“Mmgh.”

“We promised to meet up with Oikawa and Iwaizumi for lunch while they’re in town. Come on.”

“M’dn wanna,” is the lump’s muffled reply as he burrows deeper into his cocoon. “Cold.”

Issei stares at him for a long minute, considering his options. He’s been lying outside the blankets for a good ten minutes now, not including the hours since he’d had them stolen away from him in the night. So, while Hanamaki was probably having a ball being all warm and rolled up like an omelet, Issei really wanted to get up and possibly under a hot shower--preferably sooner than later.

He’ll make coffee today as an apology. He’ll even draw a leaf in his latte. Hanamaki loves it when he gets latte foam leaves. 

Issei feels out the opening of the wrappings and delicately wriggles in one arm, following it with the other. He then quickly flips off most of the blankets and grabs Hanamaki in a koala hug, pressing as much of his cold limbs against the other as he nuzzled his stubbled jaw against his victim’s cheek. This of course earns several yelps of protest at the intrusion as his lover finally sits up, having been so forcefully extricated from his haven. There’s eye gunk crusted at the corner of his eyes that he hasn’t rubbed away yet, and his hair is both flattened and mussed. It’s adorable.

Issei remains loosely folded around Hanamaki, slightly warmer now. He presses another kiss against his temple (he’ll save one to the lips until after they brush their teeth). “Good morning, darling.”

“Don’t you even start.”

“Pumpkin. Honey. Sugar lump.”

“...sweetie.”

“Sunshine.”

“Snookums.”

“Schmuggle-wump.”

“Shower?” he asks hopefully.

Hanamaki huffs dramatically, pretending that he’s miffed about the abrupt transition even as he relaxes into Issei’s arms. “Carry me,” he commands.

“We both know how that ended last time.” Issei recalls the unfortunately vivid memory and shudders.

Hanamaki groans but scoots himself forward and swings his legs off the edge of the bed, toeing the floor blindly in search of pants because can’t be half-assed to bend over and search like a proper human being. He crows in victory when he manages to snatch a pair of joggers up from the ground with his right foot. He hops up and Issei gets a pleasant eyeful of pert ass before the pants slide on in one practiced motion. Why Hanamaki had to go through the trouble of putting them on when he’s not wearing anything underneath (and he’d have to take them off to shower anyway) is beyond his understanding, but remains one of the odd rituals that remain consistent in their morning routine.

By this point he’s standing up, threadbare sweats barely clinging to his hips. The elastic holding them up has gone through months of abuse and it’s a wonder that they stay up at all, to be honest. He watches them slip even more as Hanamaki leans back and reaches his arms towards the ceiling, several joints popping as he stretches. After he finishes, he lolls his head back to look at Issei and asks, “Well, are you coming?”

“Just thought I’d enjoy the view a little longer. Hold on,” he says, and finally maneuvers himself into a standing position to follow a yawning Hanamaki down the hallway.

 

**noon(ish) -- 12:30 P.M.**

 

“--and then, get this Makki, Iwa-chan sees the kid crying so he runs back in, right? I wasn’t too worried since we’d technically already put out the actual fire but it was still kind of scary because of the leftover smoke. Then he comes out of the building with the neighbor’s kittens in his arms! It was just like something out of a movie!”

Hanamaki leans his chin against his palm, whistling. “Amazing. Hey, Iwaizumi, you sure you’re not actually aiming to be a firefighter?”

“As if. Also I wouldn’t have had to do that had someone actually watched the stove like I asked them to.” Iwaizumi gives Oikawa a very unsubtle, very meaningful glance. Oikawa in turn has the decency to look sheepish, shrinking slightly in his seat even as he complains about how boring it is to watch water boil. “Luckily most of the other tenants just wrote it off as an inconvenient fire drill.”

Oikawa turns to his boyfriend and asks, “If an actual fire broke out, Iwa-chan would definitely come to my rescue, right?”

“Rescue yourself, idiot. You’d be too heavy to carry out.”

“Fighting words for someone who’s also holding hands with him under the table, Iwaizumi.” Issei fights to keep his expression flat when Iwaizumi splutters in response. Next to him, Oikawa giggles like a bashful junior high student who’s been caught acting lovey dovey.

“Oh, that reminds me though. Mattsun, Makki--Iwa-chan and I have a very important announcement to make! We,” Oikawa pulls out their linked fingers from beneath the table with a dramatic flourish. A simple white-gold band encircles his left ring finger, matching the one Iwaizumi reveals when he pulls his other hand out of his jeans. “Are planning on getting married while we’re in the US.”

“Ah, like with Elvis in Las Vegas?” Hanamaki laughs when Oikawa throws an french fry in his direction (Iwaizumi scolds him for wasting food). “Kidding, kidding. Congrats. It’s about time Iwaizumi, didn’t you drag me out to help you look for those things the last time you were here? That was a couple months ago.”

Just as Oikawa’s eyes widen with surprise, his boyfriend (well, fiancé now) brings a hand to his temple and is probably cursing Hanamaki under his breath for letting that detail slip. Issei decides to tune out while Oikawa barrages Iwaizumi with questions. He feels a slight pang of--something--that Iwaizumi didn’t ask him as well, but to be honest between the four of them Hanamaki (surprisingly enough) has the classiest taste.

He accidentally catches Hanamaki’s gaze when it flickers briefly in his direction. His boyfriend’s no Oikawa, but apparently he notices the slight tension in Issei’s posture because he raises one slim eyebrow and says, “No need to be jealous, Issei. It was when you were practically living at the library trying to finish that project.”

Was it jealousy? He thought he was done with that emotion ages ago, when the lingering (longing) glances he had sent in Hanamaki’s direction had been on the sly, never when he could be caught. At the time when Hanamaki’s own gaze had been directed towards Iwaizumi’s broad back--

His train of thought is interrupted when Hanamaki wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, it’s rude to space out while someone's talking to you, y'know? Unless you’re thinking about how mind numbingly awesome my blow jobs are.”

Oikawa is temporarily distracted from grilling Iwaizumi and squawks about propriety in public spaces.

He blinks. “Sorry.” Smirks. “What if I was, though?”

“Flattery will get you a rousing encore of this morning’s performance when we get home,” his boyfriend sing-songs.

Oikawa makes another scandalised noise. Iwaizumi says, “I’m with Tooru here, we really didn’t need to know that.”

He meets eyes with Hanamaki, their expressions smugly satisfied as they bump fists. “Not sorry.” Like clockwork, Iwaizumi and Oikawa groan in unison. Issei chuckles. “Seriously though, I’m happy for you guys. It’s just too bad we won’t be there.”

Iwaizumi smiles. “We’re definitely having a proper celebration with our families and you guys when we get back, so you’d better start preparing those best men speeches.”

“I call dibs on being Iwaizumi’s. You can deal with groomzilla Oikawa, Issei,” says Hanamaki.

“Takahiro, dear, let’s decide this like proper Japanese citizens,” he replies. He raises a fist, “Rock, paper, scissors. Best two out of three?”

Across the table, Oikawa whines indignantly, “Iwa-chan, they’re bullying me! I did absolutely nothing and they’re bullying me!!”

 

**night -- 11:32 P.M.**

 

Issei’s toes curl. He runs his fingers through Hanamaki’s hair as his lover teases him, alternating strokes of his hand with long licks up and down the underside of his cock. Precome weeps from the tip, running clear between Hanamaki’s fingers and lips. The sounds are slick and absolutely obscene as Hanamaki takes full advantage of the natural lubrication.

One of Hanamaki’s hands slide downwards to rub against Issei’s perineum. The stimulation leaves him shuddering and he reflexively tightens his grip on Hanamaki's scalp. Hanamaki seems to sense that Issei’s nearing his limit, because he pulls away with a practiced pop. Issei groans at the loss of contact. Hanamaki’s eyes are half-lidded, but his gaze is predatory and Issei can’t break away. He watches, panting lightly as his lover takes the head into his mouth, then swallows his entire length in one smooth motion. He starts bobbing up and down, sucking in earnest. There is electricity that pulses through Issei’s limbs and he thanks whatever genetic lottery blessed Hanamaki with no gag reflex because. Holy shit. It's never not impressive. 

Soon, warmth blossoms at the pit of his stomach and he can feel the beginnings of his release. His unoccupied hand scrambles for purchase, grabs at the sheets beneath them. His back arches off the bed even as Hanamaki bears down his weight against Issei's hips, and he breathes out a harsh, quiet “Fuck” as he comes.

Hanamaki’s thumbs rub soothing motions into his skin as he waits for Issei to catch his breath. He keeps his lips wrapped around the shaft, the movements no longer urgent, until the strongest tremors have passed. He draws off; swallows lightly. Then, he glides his tongue around the softened member one more time for good measure, lapping up most of the evidence of Issei’s orgasm.

When finished, Hanamaki shuffles backwards. He takes a moment to wipe his hands with a few tissues, tossing the crumpled mass like a three-pointer into the nearby wastebasket afterwards. It actually lands in for once, so Hanamaki wiggles a bit in a small celebratory dance. Issei claps, whistling lowly.

He then reaches out an open palm in invitation. His lover's eyes brighten, taking the proffered hand in his and linking their fingers together so that Issei can pull him in for a lazy, open-mouthed kiss. Issei licks lightly around the inside of Hanamaki’s mouth, tasting faint remnants of himself. He pulls away, thoughtful.

“Mm, is it just me or do I taste different recently?” he asks.

Hanamaki props himself up on one elbow and makes a pondering noise. “Does that mean the pineapple is working?”

He wrinkles his nose at that. Ever since Hanamaki’d read that on a blog somewhere, he’d insisted that they experiment. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the fruit, but he was starting to get sick of drinking pineapple juice all the time. The things he did for love (and science. And his sweet tooth of a boyfriend).

"What if I fed you a steady diet of cream puffs. Would your jizz taste like cream puffs?"

"I don't think that's quite how it works." Issei shakes his head in mock disappointment. "To this day, though pastry cream may run through your veins, your cum still tastes like tangy gym socks."

He gets a pillow to the face for that comment. Then a lapful of Hanamaki.

 

**(later that) night -- 11:54 P.M.**

 

Hanamaki shouts and nearly slams his head against the wall as his orgasm hits, spilling into the back of Issei's throat. Issei makes a point of swallowing despite the taste (he was only half-joking about the gym socks), and wonders if Hanamaki would join him in his daily pineapple juice ritual.

He sits up, his shadow looming as he takes in his lover from this vantage point. Beneath him, Hanamaki’s flushed all over, chest heaving. Issei brings a hand to his forehead to wipes away a stray drop of sweat, then slides it down to his chin. His neck. Clavicle. Over his heart, which beats a steady tattoo.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Hanamaki snorts, raising an eyebrow. “I think you need to get your eyes checked. I’m sweating like a pig down here.”

“I’d probably look hot with glasses.”

“Or like an old man.”

“My, I didn’t realize you had that kind of kink.”

Hanamaki tilts his head, one side of his mouth quirking up. He lays one of his own hands over the one Issei pressed to his chest, squeezing lightly. “Only the hot ones.”

 

**midnight -- 12:00 A.M.**

 

Issei hums in contentment. This is his favorite part after sex: the warm, loose-limbed feeling that follows and the slightly sticky tangle of their legs as they wait for sleep to draw them under. 

They’ve changed positions again. Now, Hanamaki is a heavy but comforting weight on top of him, fingers idly drawing invisible maps along the expanse of his skin. These light touches and gentle presses, when it’s just the two of them, is when Hanamaki’s thoughts project the loudest. The whorls and loops that he traces yell, ‘I love you. I love you. I love you. Never forget that.’

The sentiments are ones that Issei expresses aloud, and when Hanamaki leans in to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth, he feels a smile against his skin.


End file.
